Several lines followed in the characters’ argument.
Then, “‘You’ll get over it.’” She dropped her voice several octaves. “‘Well, some things a man doesn’t get over so easy.’”
“That’s the one,” Jonas said.
Her mouth fell open. “How did you know?”
“I have my ways.” He raised a brow. “Why is that line your favorite?”
Ginny took a moment to think. “It’s nice, isn’t it? People acknowledging someone affects them, right to their face, instead of leaving them to guess.” Cursing her ability to make any situation weird, she wet her lips and went back to quoting the movie. “‘Like what, supposin’?’”
“‘Like a girl coming through the fields with the sun on her hair…kneeling in church with a face like a saint…’”
Ginny sputtered a laugh. “You have seen this movie!”
He winked at her. “Opening weekend.”
Thinking of him in an old-fashioned theater with red velvet curtains, she made a wistful sound. “Why did you pretend you hadn’t?”
“So I could listen to you talk about it.”
A fluttering weight dropped into her belly—and once again, she was halfway across the couch before realizing she’d moved. Drawn to him in a way that couldn’t be denied or explained. Slowly, like a middle schooler might do, she slid her open palm over the couch cushion toward Jonas, afraid to breathe, afraid he’d think it was a bad idea.
When he slowly lowered his hand to Ginny’s and knit their fingers together, cool twined with warm, electricity raced up her arm and Jonas’s nostrils flared. But he didn’t take his hand away—and they stayed that way until sleep snuck in like a bandit and claimed her.
Ginny woke with a start the following afternoon to find Roksana doing a walking handstand from one end of her room to the other. The previous night came back to her on a roaring current and she sprang into a sitting position, searching the room—futilely—for Jonas. Of course he wouldn’t still be there in the broad daylight, but the reminder of his sunlight allergy did nothing to stop a ditch from opening in her stomach and filling with disappointment.
The last thing she remembered before sleep claimed her around two o’clock in the morning was waking in a slump against Jonas’s hard yet welcoming shoulder. She recalled trying to sit up, clear the cobwebs of sleep from her brain and refocus on The Quiet Man unsuccessfully.
Some time later, she’d woken again while being carried in his arms from her sitting area to the bed. There were moments she recalled from childhood of being carried thusly, but this had been different. Her body had been lighter than air, kind of how she imagined it would be like to float in salt water in a sensory deprivation chamber. She’d kept her breathing even and pretended to be asleep, profoundly aware of Jonas’s lack of heartbeat beside her ear. Instead of laying her down in the bed right away, he’d paced for a while at the foot of her bed. Without him saying a word, Ginny could decipher his internal mutterings. They might as well have spoken out loud. I shouldn’t be here. She’ll remember none of this.
Finally, he’d lain her down in the bed—fully clothed. After rattling the knob to make sure her bedroom door was locked, he sat in the window staring out over Coney Island. As she drifted off to sleep, she sensed his gaze burning over her time and time again, until she’d lost the battle with not only exhaustion, but the safety she felt in Jonas’s presence. Surrendering herself to unconsciousness had never been easier with him watching over her.
“Hey!” Roksana hopped up on the foot of the bed and clapped her hands twice. “You are not a Victorian princess. Rise and shine.”
“I work nights,” Ginny complained. “Noon is early for me.”
She rubbed her stomach, which was decidedly bare between a studded bra and low rider jeans. “I was told this job included meals.”
Biting back a smile, Ginny climbed out of bed. “Do you want me to prepare you something or should we go get bagels and cream cheese?”
“Option two. And coffee.” Roksana leapt off the bed, shadowboxing as soon as her feet touched down. “Maybe we’ll get some action today, yes?”
Ginny paused in the act of choosing a dress from her closet to smile over her shoulder. “Yes, I can almost guarantee it.”
The slayer seemed to be holding her breath. “Really?”
“Oh yes. My dress making club is always action packed. There will be backstitching, hemming, maybe even some ruffled embellishment.”
“Very funny.” She flexed her fingers. “Dress making club. This is really a thing? You can buy clothes on the internet.”
“Is that where you buy yours?”
“Occasionally.” She fingered the strap of her bra. “I have to sort through a lot of ball gags and latex suits to find what I’m looking for, but it’s there.”
Ginny laughed. “I just never imagined a vampire slayer having a credit card.”